The Hallowed One
by Snake Doctor
Summary: Short, short story. A small fanfic in honor of Hallow's End 2010.


Malles Mikkal gazed at the shattered gates of the Scarlet Monastery, lost in thought for a moment. He had many memories of this place, the majority of the good, some bad. Opinions of them differed, depending on what mood he was in that day. But he was not here for pleasure, to reminisce of days long gone and of men long dead. No, this was for business. With a low growl he walked through the gates and began heading for the graveyard.

Long and dark hallways were all that greeted him, filled with the bones and rotting corpses of long-dead Scarlet Crusaders. Many killed by Malles' hand, some not. Klept had been with him. along with Klept's friend Isolder, as had Raaru and even Nawibo. Nawibo had not enjoyed the slaughter, which had caused a rift between him and Malles. But the rift was patched up when they met again in Outland, which Malles thought of as a good thing. Nawibo and he had been through too much together to be enemies. They all had.

The undead stepped out into bright sunlight as he approached the graveyard. The sun was going down. Soon, it would be time for the nightly Wickerman Festival, and Malles would have to return to the Undercity. But he had plenty of time for this task. A task that needed to be done, for the good of the Forsaken as well as his personal feelings.

To the left of the path and in front of a grave marker sat a rotting pumpkin. Malles' destination. He knelt in front of it and inspected it. The pumpkin was years old, and black with rot. But it was still here, kept in place by the natural Shadow magic that was the source of Malles' problems to begin with. Nodding in satisfaction, Malles stepped back and recited the appropriate challenge.

"Horseman rise, your time is nigh. You felt death once, now know demise!"

The ground shook beneath his feet, but Malles crossed his arms and stood calmly as a black shadow stepped out from behind the marker. The shadow formed into the figure of a man on a horse. The horse glowed green, while the man was decked in black armor and had the same rotting pumpkin for a head. Carved into the pumpkin were distinct facial features of a paladin Malles had known in life. However, this man was more commonly known around Azeroth as the Headless Horseman, who appeared every Hallows End season and attacked various towns of the living.

"It is over," the Headless Horseman said, "you quest is done! Let fate choose now, the righteous one."

"Not tonight, Thomas," Malles replied. His twin battleaxes were, as always, within easy reach on his back, but he did not draw them. "Do you remember me?"

The Horseman drew his sword and pointed it at him. "Be on your guard, and draw your sword! For I will attack, and smash through blade and ward!"

The Headless Horseman was in reality the undead corpse of a paladin named Thomas Thomson, a Scarlet Crusader who had gone insane after inadvertently slaughtering his entire family. Malles remembered when they had brought him back from that battle, how quiet he had been. A week later he had attacked his fellow Scarlets and killed many before one of them decapitated him, and was buried in the grave Malles was standing on. However, somehow he had come back as an undead, through Plague or necromancy Malles did not know. Now Thomson attacked the living, for he believed he was alive and they were all dead.

"Thomas Thomson," Malles continued, knowing the effort was useless. He'd done this before. "Please, go back and take your rightful rest. You know your crimes were not your own, but a trick of our leaders. I, Malles Mikkal, ask you to lay down your arms and know peace." Malles locked eyes with Thomson. "Your justice against those who wronged you has already been carried out. You have no reason to submit yourself to this torment." Malles paused for a moment. "This is not an existence...any righteous soul should suffer."

Thomas gave him a long look. "I cannot, for this is my place. How dare you preach justice to my missing face!"

Now Malles drew an axe. Cleaver gleamed in the moonlight. "I am here to give you aid, Thomson, should you require it. Know I do not do this out of enjoyment, but out of duty."

But as always, before Malles could attack the Horseman dissolved into shadow and retreated into his pumpkin. Malles brought the axe down on the pumpkin. It did not cut cleanly, but exploded upon impact and flung rotting goo everywhere. But Malles knew he had done nothing. Thomson would come back next year, and so would Malles, and they would repeat this conversation. As they had in the past, many times before.

He sheathed Cleaver and went on his way, not taking one look back.


End file.
